Same Time Next Year
by Lenni George
Summary: "Just give me tonight. Please? Just let go…feel again…and not worry about tomorrow." - Mac/OC - mentions of 9/11. Spoilers for any and all Mac eps possible and probable. If you like it, I'll write more - just let me know.
1. The Beginning  2002

It had been a year. 365 days had gone by since that sunny Tuesday morning that changed the course of history. The year went by in a blur for Mac Taylor. Not wanting to spend time in his empty apartment, he threw himself more into his work.

He'd spent many a night at Ground Zero, watching the workers or just sitting and thinking. Somehow, he felt closer to Claire when he was there and it gave him comfort. He wasn't the only one. He'd started recognizing the faces of the "regulars". Some of them spoke to him, sharing memories of their lost loved ones. Others acknowledged him with a grim nod.

He wasn't surprised to see them all at the memorial reading of the names on that first anniversary. He'd gotten there later than he wanted, having stopped at the lab first. There were chairs set up, but they were all taken. He slipped into the back of the crowd and, as was his standard practice, took in his surroundings.

His eyes stopped wandering when he got to the woman to his left. Her dark hair was a sharp contrast to her pale skin, but what really struck him were her eyes. They were large, dark, and showed a sadness that he could feel.

Catching his eyes, she smiled at him. It was a true, friendly smile, one borne out of the tragic kinship they both knew they shared. As they stood, in the heat, waiting for the ceremony to begin, he felt her sway a bit and reached out to steady her.

Embarrassed she looked at him, "I'm sorry."

"Do you need to sit?"

She shook her head, "I'll be okay." She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a bottle of water. "Would you like one? I brought extra."

Until she offered, he hadn't really felt the heat. Now it seemed oppressive and he nodded, "Thank you."

She handed him a bottle and reached into her bag for another. "I'm Stephanie Romano."

"Mac Taylor," he returned, taking a drink of the water.

She nodded at the badge clipped to his belt, "You're a police officer?"

"Crime Lab," he said, noticing how she seemed to brighten a bit.

Stephanie nodded and Mac could tell she felt awkward. Quickly he said, "What do you do?"

"I'm a kindergarten teacher," she said, then, quietly, "My husband…worked in the Tower 1."

Mac nodded, "My wife worked in Tower 2."

"I'm sorry," she offered and then gave a light snort. "I can't believe I just said that."

"Why?"

"Maybe it's me, but I hate it when people find out and then say "I'm sorry." As if it was their fault." She shrugged. "I don't mean to sound bitter, but people have no idea how it feels."

"They don't," he agreed. "They try though."

"And I appreciate the gesture, I do. I just wish they could come up with something else to say."

He watched as she took a long drink of water. She was a beautiful woman with delicate features and he found himself wanting to see her smile. He gave himself a moment to ponder the thought before issuing an internal reprimand that would make any of his staff cringe.

Unfortunately, she picked up on his attention.

"Mac, you seem a little distracted. Everything okay?" she asked, with a knowing smile.

Mac felt himself blushing and mumbled, "Sorry, my mind was a million miles away…"

"It's okay…" she said, her smile fading as she caught someone step up to the podium.

He pulled his eyes away from her and directed his attention to the podium.

XXXXX

When it was over, she invited him to go with her to get a drink. It was a hot, long morning and despite the fact that it was only 2 pm, she felt a drink was in order. He had to admit, he agreed with her.

They walked for a while, until they were far enough away from Ground Zero that they both visibly relaxed, before walking into the first bar they saw. It was mid afternoon and the place wasn't crowded, so they had their pick of seats at the bar.

Settling in at the far corner, they ordered drinks. He, a glass of Irish whiskey, she a vodka and cranberry .As they drank, they talked, about themselves, their jobs, and finally about their spouses.

Mac was surprised at how easy it was to talk to her about Claire. He found himself opening up, saying things he'd never said aloud and to his surprise, she understood. She didn't look at him as if he'd lost his mind, or was weak. She looked at him with an understanding that only someone who'd lived through it could possess.

When she finally looked at her watch and announced that it was 7 pm, they were both surprised. Mac had lost count of how many drinks they'd had, but by the total quoted by the bartender when they cashed out their tab, it had been quite a few.

"We," Stephanie announced, leaning towards him, her feet resting on the bottom rung of his stool. "Need to get out of this bar before they charge us rent."

"I think that tab was just about a rent payment," Mac mused, resting his arm on the back of her stool, where it had been for the past hour or so. "But you're right, we should head out. Want to share a cab?"

She smiled a true smile. "Yeah, I'd like that."

He stood and held out his hand to her, taking it, she stood. Instead of letting go, she squeezed his hand.

"Shall we?" she asked.

He nodded, feeling the warmth of her hand in his. Something in the back of his mind told him he should let go of her hand, but instead, he wrapped his fingers around it and they walked, hand-in-hand from the bar.

He flagged a cab and when they got in, she sat close to him, her hand resting on his thigh. As he gave the driver his address, he slipped his arm around her shoulders, then sat back and looked at her. She was smiling at him, her eyes bright and twinkling.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, feeling his lips curling into a smile of his own.

"You," she said, her voice rich, sexy. "And those blue eyes of yours…"

"What about them?" he asked, wishing he could have come up with something slicker.

She leaned in close to him, "I could get lost in those eyes," she said, her lips brushing his.

Mac leaned in closer, claiming her lips in a kiss. She responded, wrapping her arms around him. He drank in the sensations, the feeling of her lips against his, her body wrapped in his arms. It had been too long since he'd felt the touch of a woman and his body was responding fiercely to each move, each touch, each feeling.

As his hand slipped beneath the hem of her skirt, a soft moan escaped her lips. He pulled back for a moment, the reality of their actions hitting him like a bucket of cold water.

"Mac?" she asked, her eyes boring into his.

"We shouldn't be doing this…" he began, as she leaned in close, daring him to kiss her again. "We're emotional, we've been drinking…"

"And this is the first time in a year that I've felt anything, Mac," she said, deep emotion bubbling beneath her sexy tone. "Tell me you don't feel the same way. Tell me that you don't need to let go and feel something, anything, besides shock, and anger, and emptiness, and I'll get out at the corner and pretend this never happened."

She was right, of course. He'd closed himself down, shutting off all feeling but anger, regret, and emptiness. In the past few hours, he'd let himself open up and feel again and he wasn't ready to turn it back off.

"I can't tell you that, Stephanie," he said, kissing her. "I can't promise you…"

"Stop," she said, looking him in the eye. "I don't want a promise. Just give me tonight. Please? Just let go…feel again…and not worry about tomorrow."

He smiled at her, "That's not something I'm used to doing."

She kissed him, fully, surely. "Where can we go? My place is out, too many memories."

"Mine too…" he said, between kisses. He pulled back and looked out the window, then leaned forward to the cab driver. "Is there a decent hotel nearby?"

The cabbie nodded, "The Gem…right up on Houston. Very nice. Very clean."

"That'll do," Stephanie said, pulling him close again.

XXXXX

Mac woke slowly, fighting a familiar vicious pounding behind his eyes. He'd become very familiar with hangovers in the past year and very adept at working through them. This time, however, was different.

He knew before he even opened his eyes that he wasn't at home. The bed didn't have that familiar fabric softener smell that his sheets did. No, these sheets were crisp, stiff. Hotel sheets.

"Mac," a female voice began. He recognized the voice, but it took a minute or two to place it. "Mac…"

He opened his eyes to find Stephanie sitting on the side of the bed, fully dressed. He sat up quickly, suddenly aware of his own nakedness.

"Relax," she smiled, "You didn't imagine it…"

Despite the situation he chuckled, "I didn't think I drank that much."

"You didn't," she laughed, giving his hand a squeeze.

"You're dressed…"

'I need to go."

"Let me get up, I'll see you home and buy you breakfast."

She shook her head, "Look, Mac…last night was…amazing. But neither one of us is ready for anything."

"I'm not into one night stands," he seriously said.

She gave him a sad smile, "And I'm not into empty promises that we can't keep. Let's just say we'll see each other next year, okay?" She leaned over and gave him a soft, lingering kiss. "Thank you, Mac Taylor, for helping me feel." She kissed him again, then stood.

"Stephanie…" he tried, but it was too late. She'd grabbed her purse and had her hand on the door. He thought of protesting, of calling her name again, but she was right. Neither of them was ready for anything more than just what the night had been.

She opened the door, then turned to him and smiled. "See ya, Mac."

"See ya," he replied, as she walked out of the room and pulled the door shut.


	2. 2003

Another year had passed and Mac Taylor would have liked to say he'd healed, that he'd been able to move on, but that would be a lie. Mac Taylor did his best not to lie.

It still hurt, a deep ache with in his heart that would strike at random times, overwhelming him with its strength and purity. He'd been shot, taken shrapnel to his chest, but nothing felt quite like this. He could handle physical pain, but the emotional pain was beyond his comprehension.

To NYPD and the Crime Lab, he was still Mac Taylor, the dependable, stoic leader that they all looked to for guidance. But when he reluctantly left the lab and went back to his quiet apartment, he was someone they wouldn't recognize. His evening companion had become a bottle of Irish whiskey. It wasn't like he drank the entire bottle – no just one or two, to help him fall asleep.

His nights at Ground Zero weren't as frequent as they had been the first year. Work was crazy, the lab overwhelmed, and getting there just wasn't as easy as it used to be.

As he walked to the ceremony seating he saw the familiar faces of other survivors. They greeted each other with a nod, a small wave, a sad smile. It was a bit easier this year. The wounds healed a bit more, life resuming. But he could see in their faces that they'd aged. He wondered if he looked the same to them.

His eyes roamed the crowd. He tried not to admit to himself that he was looking for her, but he was. He'd thought of her often during the year, her face coming to mind at random moments. They'd had a night, shared their grief in a physical way, then went their separate ways.

He was disappointed when he didn't spot her dark hair, her large brown eyes. Maybe, she wouldn't come this year. Maybe her life had moved on. Maybe he shouldn't be so concerned, the voice in his head raged.

The feel of a hand on his arm caused him to turn quickly. It was her. Stephanie.

"Hi, Mac," she smiled.

"Stephanie," he returned, with a smile of his own.

"How have you been?"

"Good, you?"

She nodded, "Good."

He nodded, his mind refusing to come up with anything further to say.

A moment of silence passed before she softly laughed, "This is only mildly awkward, huh?"

He smiled, feeling the tension break. "Only mildly. Why don't we get a seat?"

XXXXX

They sat next to each other, towards the end of a row. Not a word was exchanged between them, each lost in their own thoughts. He knew she was there, to his left, and it gave him some strange sense of comfort, although he wasn't quite sure why.

When the ceremony ended, shortly after noon, he finally looked at her. She wore a pair of dark sunglasses, but he could still see the tear tracks on her cheeks that she was trying to blot with a tissue.

"What do you say we get some lunch?" he offered, feeling a tug of nerves.

She looked up at him, a smile forming. "And a cold drink? Preferably of the alcoholic variety?"

He returned the smile, "I think that would be a good idea." He offered her his arm, "Come on."

This time, they walked towards Battery Park. She told him she wanted to be near the water. From when she was a child, growing up in southern New Jersey she explained, being near the water always soothed her soul.

They stopped into 2 West in the Ritz Carlton for lunch and a drink. The food was good, the drinks cold and strong, and the view of the water amazing. As they sat, they talked about the changes they'd witnessed in the past year, in the country, in the city, and finally in their own lives.

Stephanie, a kindergarten teacher, had gone on about how the children in her classes had kept her sane and given her a reason to keep functioning. Her son, who was in his last year of a business degree at Columbia had enlisted in the Navy, putting his education on hold. He was currently stationed in Kings Bay Georgia, training to be an engineer on a submarine. She was fiercely proud of him, but admitted that she wasn't ready to lose another person she loved to terrorists.

She seemed stronger, healthier, and her eyes weren't as haunted as they appeared last September. He'd found her attractive last year, but this year, she was even more so.

She prompted him to talk about his life and he talked about the lab. He supposed that it was his life now that Claire was gone.

"Besides the lab," she said when he stopped to take a drink of his Jamison's, "What do you do with your life?"

He stopped; the glass paused at his lips, trying to come up with something to say.

"Mac," she softly said, concern evident in her voice, "Please tell me you do more than work."

He offered a sheepish smile and a shrug, then took a long drink. As he swallowed, he felt her hand on his. He looked up at her and she spoke.

"You can't do that…" she went on, her voice soft, "You can't close down…"

"I'm busy," he dismissed. "We're understaffed, under budgeted…"

"And it beats going home to that empty apartment full of memories," she concluded for him.

He shrugged again, taking another drink and wishing she would stop looking at him with pity and concern. "I don't really have time for a social life right now."

"Mac…"

"Can we talk about something else?" he simply said, finishing his drink and motioning to the bartender to refill it.

Stephanie chuckled, "I can see we're going to get trashed again this year."

"I am," he firmly said, "You're welcome to join me."

Stephanie drained the rest of her drink and set her empty glass next to Mac's. "I hate to see a good looking guy drink alone."

He allowed her a small smile and squeezed her hand.

XXXXX

Dinner time arrived and the tables in the restaurant filled up quickly. Mac and Stephanie held court at the far end of the bar, seeming not to notice the people around them.

To anyone watching, they could be good friends or a couple on a date. Her feet rested on the bottom rung of his bar stool, his arm was draped across the back of hers. They sat close, but not overly so.

"Damn," Stephanie said, finishing her drink. "I either need to eat or stop drinking."

"We can order some food," Mac smiled, knowing full well that he was drunk. "Should we get a bar menu?"

"I have a better idea," Stephanie said, placing her hand on his leg. "Why don't we get a room service menu?"

He raised a brow. "Room service?"

"Come on, Mac. We don't need to sit in this bar any longer, but neither one of us is in any shape to go home."

"So you want to get a room?"

She nodded, "Don't you?"

"I didn't…I hadn't…" he ran his hand over his face and cursed the Irish whiskey that ran through his blood stream. Forcing his brain to think clearly, he said, "I didn't want to assume."

"You're a good guy, Mac Taylor," she said, placing her hand to his cheek. "Someday, there will be another woman who touches your heart and she'll be damn lucky." She leaned forward and kissed him softly, "But tonight, I think we both need this."

He returned her kiss, prolonging it for a moment before pulling back and studying her face. The desire that smoldered in her eyes sent a jolt through him and any thoughts of walking away evaporated.

"Let's get a room," he agreed.

XXXXX

He lay across the snow white sheets, her arm and leg draped across him, her head resting on his chest, while his hand traced random patterns on the soft skin of her arm. When he stole a glance down at her face, he found her eyes fixed on the large window, with its view of the Statue of Liberty.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

"I'm good, you?"

"The same," he replied, kissing the top of her head. "I think it's my turn to thank you for helping me to feel," he quietly said.

She pulled her eyes from Lady Liberty and looked up at him. "I'm glad to hear that."

"It's easier," he went on, his tongue looser than he would like. "To just shut it off and work through it."

"Of course it is," she agreed, "But it takes a toll on you. You can't curl up and die because Claire did, Mac."

Her words stung, but he knew she meant no harm with them. "Sometimes, I wish I could," he admitted.

She shook her head, "I seriously doubt she'd appreciate hearing you say that."

"I do too," he sighed.

"Then stop it," she simply said. "You're allowed to hurt. You're allowed to be angry, but damnit, you need to live."

"And what makes you so wise?" he asked, careful to keep his tone light.

"I've heard the same words from some very good friends and a damn bright 22 year old that looks a lot like his dad," she smiled, her eyes filling with tears.

"You're lucky to have him," Mac replied. "And yes, I've heard the same thing from some good friends. I just stopped listening."

"Listen to them, okay? Promise me?" she seriously asked. "Next year, I want to see you smile more, okay?"

"Next year," he repeated. "I was hoping…"

She cut him off with a shake of her head, "Neither one of us is ready for that yet, Mac. We weren't last year and we're not now."

He gave her a true smile, "Maybe next year…."

"Maybe next year," she echoed, kissing him softy. "Maybe next year."


	3. 2007

Walking towards Ground Zero, Mac Taylor's eyes scanned the crowd. He recognized many of the faces, seeing them there at different times during the year. Some, he saw only once a year, but recognized them just the same.

He knew their names, their stories, the names of the loved ones they'd lost, just as they knew his. Theirs was a kinship born out of tragedy, but a kinship just the same. He nodded at Sam Nichols, whose wife, Marina, was a waitress in the coffee shop that Claire went to each morning, then exchanged a smile with Amber DuValle, whose father was a broker and had called her from his desk moments before the first plane hit the towers.

His eyes kept scanning the crowd, finally settling on a dark haired woman in her early 40's. She stood, her fingers laced in the fencing, just watching the construction crews. She'd cut her hair, he observed, and it now sat in a shoulder length bob. Her eyes were hidden by a pair of sunglasses, but he knew they were brown and expressive.

He stepped closer to her, not wanting to interrupt her thoughts, but needing to hear the sound of her voice. "Stephanie," he said, before he could stop himself.

Stephanie Romano turned to him and smiled, "Mac. How are ya?"

"Good," he returned, "You?"

"Good," she echoed.

"They're getting ready to start the memorial," he observed, "We should probably head over."

She nodded and slipped her arm around his, "Let's go."

XXXXX

He couldn't remember which one of them made the first move or even suggested the hotel room, but he could remember every detail of their first night together. Neither of them talked about a future, neither of them talked much at all. Their bodies said what needed to be said and when they parted, she left him with a kiss and a promise to see him next year.

When they met up at Ground Zero the next year, they sat together during the memorial, again, heading for drinks when it was over and again making their way to a hotel room. And so it went each year. They'd part, on the morning of the 12th, with her telling him that they still weren't ready for anything more than their yearly tryst and him, no matter how wrong he thought she was, agreeing with her.

They'd eventually exchanged email addresses and occasionally wrote each other, but they confined their meetings to 9/11. And so it went for five years, but this year, something was different. Something he couldn't quite place his finger on.

As they walked into their hotel room, she suddenly seemed nervous, hesitant, not her normal self. She took off her suit jacket and tossed it on the wing chair then turned to him, with a smile.

"Has it really been a year?" she asked, stepping to him. Her hands made quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

"It has," he nodded, placing his hands on hers and holding them.

She looked up at him with questioning eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," she dismissed, leaning in close and kissing him.

"Stephanie," he countered, "We don't have to do this…"

"We do. It's what we do…"

"Look at me," he softly commanded, causing her to pull back and raise her eyes to his.

He studied her face. Over the past five years, he'd watched her eyes go from empty and haunted to bright and sparkling. Despite the memories of the day, they'd both moved on and it seemed to hurt less and less with each year.

This year, her eyes didn't hold the same sparkle and it bothered him. A lot.

"Talk to me…" he said.

Her eyes darted to the floor, "I…about a month ago, I found a lump…" she began. "In my left breast. It's grown and they want to remove it." She looked up at him. "The blood tests didn't show any cancer cells, but that doesn't mean there isn't something in the lump. I'm having it removed Friday."

He knew he should say something, but couldn't find the words.

"Yeah, I know," she shrugged, slipping out of his arms. "I almost didn't want to see you this year…"

"Why?"

"Why?" she asked, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We get together once a year, Mac. Once a year…for sex. For one night I let go and give in to my desires with no guilt, no worries. And you…" she smiled, "You treat me like I'm the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. And now…I've got this…thing….in my breast. That you can feel and after Friday? Who knows what I'll have."

"Stephanie," he said, taking her hands in his, "You are beautiful…"

"Really?" she asked, unbuttoning her blouse. She pulled it open to reveal a white lace demi bra. "Give me your hand." She took his hand and placed his fingers on the inside of her left breast. "Do you feel that?"

He did. It was a very pronounced lump, about the size of a quarter.

'You do," she nodded, letting go of his hand. "Doesn't it disgust you?"

"No," he honestly said. "It doesn't. It's a lump and hopefully it's benign. It doesn't change who you are or how attractive you are."

"And next year? What if it's more? What if I lose the whole thing?" she cried, allowing her fear to bubble over. "Oh God…" she sighed, sitting on the end of the bed. "I'm losing it on you. You of all people!"

"It's okay," he said, sitting next to her. "You're scared."

"I am," she admitted. "And as I get closer to the surgery, I get worse."

"It's okay," he softly said, pulling her into his arms. "What time is your surgery?"

"Ten," she replied, relaxing in his arms. "I have to be there by 8:30 so I've got a cab coming at 8 to take me up to Beth Israel."

"A cab? No one's taking you?"

"My parents retired to Boca Raton," she shrugged, "My son's stationed in Italy."

"You're going alone?" he seemed surprised.

"I don't need to burden anyone with my troubles," she dismissed, pulling back. "I'm sorry, Mac. This isn't the way this is supposed to go. We're supposed to come together, spend the night, and part until next year. We're supposed to escape…leave the world outside…"

"And we can still do that," he said, reaching out and tilting her chin up so that he could see her face. "I'll take you to the hospital on Friday."

"No, Mac…" she protested.

"We've been doing this same time next year thing for five years, Stephanie," he said, "Don't you think it's time we shook it up a little."

"But you need to work…"

He shook his head, "The lab will survive one more day without me."

"You'd do that for me?"

He nodded, giving her a smile.

She hugged him tightly, resting her head against his chest. "Thank you, Mac."

He kissed the top of her head. "You're welcome."


	4. A Good Place To Start

They'd been together before, five times to be exact. But something about this time was different. This time, Stephanie Romano was nervous, anxious, and actually cared about how she looked, how he saw her. And that, she decided, was not how it should be.

When she got the call from her doctor that the lump was cancer free, she was ecstatic. She'd talked to Mac a couple of times a day since he left her house, late Saturday night, once he was sure she was strong enough to be left alone. He'd made the first move and called her Sunday morning to check on her, sincerely concerned.

She knew his crew was working overnights and when she got the message early Thursday morning, she made up her mind to thank him properly. She'd taken the day off to go for her follow up visit and put it to good use. When she arrived at the Crime Lab at 7 pm, she carried two dozen home made cupcakes. She knew they were good, hell people paid good money for her cakes, she just hoped it was the right gesture.

He was surprised to see her, grateful for the cupcakes and thrilled with her news. So much so that he asked her to dinner on Saturday night, his next night off, to celebrate. She quickly agreed to go to dinner with him and he told her to dress up, as they were going to do "something special."

When he arrived at her door, wearing a dark suit and a smile, she felt her breath catch in her throat. He was so damn attractive, so damn nice. She felt as if she'd known him forever, yet truthfully, she didn't know him much at all.

Sure, they were sexually compatible, but could they get along out of bed as well? What if he thought she was boring? What if that air of mystery that she'd carried since they met was the very thing that attracted him to her and once that he knew she was nothing overly dramatic or overly exciting, he would bolt for the door.

Despite her nerves, she was happy with his choice of restaurants, loved his company, and thrilled that he seemed to find her as interesting as she found him. The night went by all too quickly and before she knew it, he'd handed the waiter his credit card to pay the check.

"You've been smiling all night," Mac observed, watching her with a smile of her own.

"I can't help it," she replied, eyes twinkling. "I've been given a reprieve by the man upstairs and I'm having dinner with an amazing, attractive guy, who seems to like me. Why wouldn't I smile?"

"I don't now about the amazing and attractive part," Mac said, mildly embarrassed, "But I do like you, Stephanie."

She blushed. "You hardly know me."

"Which is why I asked you out," he countered, not missing a beat. "I want to get to know you better."

"I like you Mac Taylor," she said, with a smile that she hoped was flirty. "I feel like I've known you for a long time…but I guess you're right. I know very little about your day to day life…except that you don't smile near enough."

He digested her statement for a moment, then slowly, with a rare smile, "Guess I haven't really had much reason to smile."

"Life's too short, Mac. I think you need to smile more…at least away from work. I wouldn't want to ruin that perfectly honed hard ass thing you have going."

Mac laughed, "Hard ass?"

She nodded, sipping her wine. "While I was waiting for you to notice me yesterday, I was watching you. You may not be in uniform, but you've still got a healthy dose of Marine in you."

"I like to run things efficiently. I'm fair, though."

"Oh yes, I have no doubt you are," she nodded. "See, I've seen that human side of you. But…"

"But…" he repeated, appearing intrigued.

"But, what do you do when you're not working?"

"When I'm not working…" he thoughtfully said. "Well, I play bass in a pick up jazz band."

"Bass," she said with a grin, "That fits you."

"How so?"

"It's subtle, yet strong and you hold the whole band together."

He raised a brow, "Interesting analysis."

"Tell me I'm wrong."

He laughed, "I guess you're not."

The waiter brought back his card and waited for his signature. After thanking them, he walked away.

"So," she began, willing herself not to be nervous. "I guess we should go."

He stood and held out his hand, "We should."

She took his hand and allowed him to help her stand. She was still a bit tender from the incision and winced.

"Are you okay?" he asked, clearly concerned.

She nodded. "Every now and then I get a twinge, but I'm okay."

They walked out of the restaurant and into the cool late September evening. He gave the valet his ticket and then turned to her.

"So here we are…" she mused. "The second Friday night in a row."

"Yes, but this time, you're a bit more…awake," he smiled, taking her hand.

She returned the smile, then casually, "Where to now?"

His expression told her that he hadn't planned anything past dinner, but before she could over analyze it, he gave her an embarrassed shrug.

"I didn't really plan anything," he admitted. "I guess I wasn't sure we'd make it through dinner."

"You weren't?"

"Were you?"

Stephanie laughed, "No. I wasn't either."

Mac visibly relaxed, "Good, glad I'm not the only one."

"I have an idea. Let's go back to my place. We can have a drink," she smiled, wrapping her hand around his tie, "You can take this thing off and get comfortable. And we can just relax and get to know each other."

"Sounds like a great idea," he agreed.

XXXXX

It took two glasses of Jamison's before Mac made a move. She'd known all along the night would end up in bed, but there didn't seem to be any rush to get there.

They'd settled on her sofa, with some soft music playing in the background. She'd kicked off her shoes and he'd removed his jacket and tie, then sat back and sipped their whiskey and just talked. It was nice, relaxing, and as they talked each became less nervous.

Their conversation had become playful, flirtier, he'd slipped his arm around her shoulder and she'd rested her hand on his thigh, but that was as far as they went.

Halfway through her second drink, she excused herself to go to the bathroom. She took moment to study her reflection and frowned. She looked pale, she thought, and wished she'd worn any dress but the one she'd put on. Worst of all, she knew that beneath the dress, the scar from last week's surgery was still fresh and glowed against her pale skin. She was sure it would turn him off the second he saw it.

"Well, there isn't much you can do about it now," she said to her reflection. Then, after a quick fluff of her hair, she put on her game face and walked back out into the living room.

"Welcome back," he smiled, as she entered the room.

"Miss me?"

He nodded, taking her hand and pulling her onto his lap. "As a matter of fact, I did."

She smiled, slipping her arms around him. "I was wondering when you'd make a move."

"You could have made a move…"

She shook her head, "Nope. I'm old fashioned…"

Mac laughed. She was the one who initiated their first night and usually the one who decided when it was time to leave the bar each successive time.

"Okay, well," she shrugged, "Usually I am. You can't count our yearly get together…they're not my usual thing."

"Mine either," he returned, his hands traveling along her back. "Although, I haven't been very successful with the relationship thing, either."

"Who has?" she returned, placing her hand to his cheek. "Is that what you want, Mac? To have a relationship? Do you want to be friends with benefits? Go back to once a year?"

"What do you want?" he asked, his eyes catching hers.

"Oh no," she smiled, "I asked you first…"

He chuckled, "You did."

"So, what is this going to be?"

"We both have very busy lives," he began, causing her heart to drop. "But, I think we might be able to find some time for each other, don't you?"

"I think we might," she allowed. "Let's just let this happen and see where it goes, okay?"

He kissed her softly, "Sounds like a plan."

She returned the kiss, a bit more fully. "And I think right now, this needs to go to the bedroom, what do you think?"

He replied with another kiss, "I think that's a great place to start."


End file.
